Sabrina J-R

Mercy is often selfishly expected.  For the times I foolishly get myself into a jam, I can be found muttering prayers that God would extend some mercy to me.  By jam, I mean presuming that a pediatrician’s appointment will actually run on time and so I only feed the parking meter a lowly amount.  Yet, when time has expired and I’m unable to refill the meter, I’m silently begging God to go easy on me and leave my windshield ticketless.  In deliberately doing this repeatedly only because I’m acting too cheap to spare an extra few cents is senseless on my part.

Mercy is a gift.  It’s something that’s given to another.  There are always two choices in every scenario.  Generally speaking, it boils down to deserved consequence vs merciful outcome.  It’s takes a very discerning person to see that even a deserved consequence can be mercy wrapped up in different packaging.  Regardless of how hard I beg or the number of tears I may be tempted to shed in order to plead my case, it’s not a gift I can give myself.  You cannot buy mercy.  It’s not for sale.  The other person must decide for themselves whether it not to grant it to me.  And everyone’s standard of measurement varies.

Mercy was extended to me.  God is oh so merciful to me!!  Words escape me to describe this gesture with even an attempted eloquence.  He is so merciful that I haven’t even seen all the ways in which gift of mercy has blessed my life.  Just in reading and studying more and more of His Word, I see my shortfalls against His grandeur and yet I am not loved any less.  God extends His mercy to me over and over and over again, never keeping count and never on the condition of this, that or the other.  He just gives.

I need to show mercy without conditions.  My definition of mercy has been marred by humanity.  I often want to *cough* judge *cough* others, trying to determine in my finite mind whether or not they’re deserving of my gift of mercy.  If I deem them worthy, then I extend mercy, with long strings attached as if to snatch it back should they fail to meet certain criteria.  If I can be completely honest—my stock of mercy is very limited.  After enough failings, the supply has been nearly depleted and mercy is not something I want to give to anyone anymore.  Save myself the disappointment.

That behavior is un-Christlike.  Life is not all about me.

Lord, help me to copy Your model.  Lead me to be merciful to others just as You’re merciful to me.

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I’m linking up with Lisa-Jo and the five minute Friday community.  Won’t you stop by and visit?  Maybe you’ll be encouraged to pull our your favourite writing gear and just let your heart flow for 5 (ish) minutes too?  You’ll learn something new today

Just when things seemed to be going well, something was suspiciously absent.  There were all sorts of colours around me, but no red.

In its place, there were changes and fatigue.  Extreme fatigue.  The kind that only happened to me when…

For someone who doesn’t really care for red, I did find myself missing it.  But the red never came.  Two very prominent and bright lines helped to explain why…

PREGNANT!!!!!!!!

Me!  **blink, blink**  I even forced myself to repeat it aloud to myself. A few times!

I was in a daze for a hot minute as I processed this news.  To say I was shocked would be a gross understatement.  I was stunned speechless, really.

Then I was scared terrified.  How to tell my Hubby?  How to tell my mother?!  How to tell everyone else?!?!   Would they react okay to this news??  Layers and layers of doubt came rushing at me, faster and more violently than a wave of nausea.

But God! 

He calmed my storms and pushed out the doubts.  He never asked me to understand nor explain every detail of my life.  I barely had answers for myself, let alone for anyone else.  The only step I needed to take was one forward in faith.  As long as I was willing to trust Him, He would handle everything else.  

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I realize that it is Monday today, but I’m still linking up with Lisa-Jo.  I liked my idea for this prompt and thought to share it anyways More details to follow–like a due date.

Small gets overlooked and underwhelmed at times.

Have you ever stubbed your pinky toe?  OUCH!  A zit looks mountainous before a major event or photo-taking opportunity.  Papercuts vs sprains? Those little buggers hurt!  A small scratch vs a dent?  All damage to your vehicle is painful.

Yet it’s the small that adds up.  Ask a newly broken up couple.  Usually it’s not an instant decision to end the relationship.  Rather, it’s instances from here and there that have compounded together to be too much to take.  Even identical twins have subtle differences between them.

Elijah went through an earthquake, fire and a powerful gust of wind before hearing God speak in a small voice.  Through faith, the remnant of a jar of olive oil was stretched enough to pay off debts and provide a savings.  Needing money for required taxes, a coin was found in a fish’s mouth. Having faith, even in the microscopic size of a mustard seed will lead to the moving of mountains.  

Answers to what we consider our small prayers have made the biggest impact on our faith.  Ever prayed for an ideal parking spot downtown?  For a sale at the grocery store?  Ever asked God for a glimpse of Himself that day and you see Him?  All those moments add up and solidify our faith. One in a thousand may seem insignificant, yet a puzzle remains incomplete when a piece is missing.  

God does not want us to be incomplete.  Each moment, each experience, each day contains enough small somethings will add up to the bigger picture of His image in our lives.

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Find five minutes and join the in the free-write, letting the words flow.  You can learn more about the five-minute Friday community here.

(My series, Exploring Aspects of Race, too.  I’d love to have you join me on this learning adventure. Part 1 and Part 2)

 

I remember a lunch outing years ago. A number of co-workers and I were seated at a restaurant, awaiting our meal.  Most of them were engaged in vibrant conversation, bashing various departments and management, complete with those ugly, clashing cuss words.  I *mistakenly* (yet politely) spoke up, wondering why we even had to discuss work issues during a free time when we’re away from the office?  Silence instantly came over the table.  That was also one of the last times I was invited to lunch.

Living for God can be a very lonely road.  Even among like-minded peers, you can find yourself on the fringes.  In choosing to distance yourself from incessant complaining, gossip and judgmental talk, you can will stick out.  No longer are the outcasts those who are persistently bitter and/or have bad odour.

It’s okay to be lonely.

I’d rather be lonely yet at peace in my heart.  It does not mean that perfection has been achieved.  We were created with a desire for social living.  We need each other to survive, to encourage, to uplift.  And as a Christian, it’s important to live in a way that best represents Christ and His Word.  Jesus, too, had periods of loneliness.

After His baptism, Jesus went off to the wilderness and fasted for 40 days.  Alone.  Understanding that His relationship with God was as vital as oxygen, Jesus often went off by Himself to pray and connect with His Father.  Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, as He begged His closest disciples to pray on His behalf, Jesus found them asleep.  Leaving Him all alone.

It’s important to note how Jesus handled this loneliness.  There were no pity parties or ‘woe is me’ moments.  He didn’t get all emo on His friends, with a dramatic confrontation about how He felt deserted.  He didn’t use that time to indulge in self-pleasures while no one watched.

Jesus accepted that loneliness was to be part of His journey.  In order to be the ultimate example, He had to live and experience all aspects of life.

While being lonely is rough, it’s not impossible…

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There are so many places this prompt could’ve gone.  This is the joy of five-minute Friday.  You start writing with no clear end in sight, most times.  The outcome is amazing.

(I’ve started a new series, exploring aspects of race through my story.  I’d love for you to join me )

I had an epiphany last night:  I’m more comfortable with myself because I’ve acknowledged the value in my story.  

We all have a story.  Some are colourful, others are epic sagas.  Some prefer to use only words while others need picture-book format.  Some stories are lived with the fantasy of being played out on the big screen, complete with which actor would best portray you.  Others try to bury their stories so deep that no one would find it.  Some stories have been grossly exaggerated, while others prefer to skim the surface.

Regardless of your personal opinion about your story, it is valuable.  It’s the one thing that you have that is matchless.  Yes, there are bits and pieces that are similar to another.  Maybe there’s some generational guck or blessings that have been passed down through familial lines.  Perhaps this detail or that moment is shared with someone else.  All that aside, there’s one thing your story has that theirs doesn’t:

You.

We are living our story.  No one can retell it as accurately as we can.  No one else could live our lives the same way we do.  It’s not about comparing or measuring up to someone else’s story.  Chances are high that they’re looking to us with envy, wishing they could swap lives.

Do you appreciate your story?  Do you see value in your story?  More importantly—how do you plan to share your story?

I used to think my story didn’t matter.  And because my story didn’t matter, I didn’t matter.  Simple math, right?  This is what made me question blogging in the first place.  Do I have anything to put out there that’s even worth sharing?  Why would anyone want to read my page?  These questions kept me ‘hiding’ my blog for a long time.  Not only did I keep my blog a secret, but I also downplayed my writing ability.  I didn’t see the point in even getting my own web space— I don’t have cash to *waste*.

However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that when I shared some of the riskier, edgier, more challenging parts of my story aloud, there was feedback.  Lots of feedback.  And it was positive.  AND they wanted to hear more.  (I don’t blog for feedback, but it sure does wonders to a bloggers soul to get some—thank you!!)  My readers saw that I offered a unique perspective and insight into a life they were honestly and earnestly curious about, but no one else had offered to share.

Now equipped with my own web space, I’m actively making plans to share more about my story.  I’m putting it out there because that’s part of who I am.  I’m choosing to share because someone else has similar bits and pieces.  They need encouragement to keep going… or encouragement to stop doing something harmful.

My story is valuable because I am valuable.

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Tell me about your story.  Can you see how you & your story makes a difference?  You can join the five-minute Friday community here.

With the guests soon to arrive, my eye caught the glistening sheen of dust on the china cabinet.  The Honey’s agreement to tidy up was soon followed by the distinct sound of shattering glass.  I came running—what happened?  He was trying to dust the easy way, around delicate objects of all shapes and sizes.  But one fell on top another.  Once whole, the personalized, hand-made glass plate of a daughter was broken and unsafe.

The local headlines scream of brokenness.  Children found dead as their mother is missing.  This injustice.  That outcry.  Lack of personal responsibility.  So much blame for anything and/or anyone.  Greed and selfishness abound.

Eyes appear matted as one glance betrays their inner pain.  Hearts are broken.  Families shattered.  Finances in despair.  Physical ailments, mental illness, behavioural struggles.  Negativity seems rampant, while ideas of compassion and selflessness seem a distant fantasy beyond reach.

I know a Repair Person.  One who specializes in the broken, be it people, places or thing.  His repair jobs are not a quick-fix, looking to do little work for much money.  God’s repairs take time, more than we expect.  They’re often painful, but relieving.  He works to not only repair but restore.  He does cosmetic surgery, so that the scars we feel inside are not too blatantly visible on the outside.  He’s a long-term restoration expert.  It’s not enough to “look” fixed; God wants you to also “feel” fixed.  To trust His tender hand and let Him do His thing.  He only knows how to do the best.

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Join in the writing frenzy each week, for Five-Minute Friday.  Rules are simple: just write.  No editing, no regrets, free-flow of thoughts.  You can even share your words with this community.

Belonging, at least for me, takes a great deal of effort.

Attending children’s classes at church each week, I felt like the ‘odd-one out’, because I didn’t attend our local church school.  After being together daily, my peers had established friendships that took longer than a couple hours once a weekly to make.

From junior high through high school, I never really felt included equally.  There was always a tension present; I just knew that something wasn’t completely right.  The only time I had people clamoring for my attention was doing a group project.  They wanted to work with me, not because of who I was but because my smarts and work ethic would guarantee them an ‘A’.  (Yes, I actually heard that comment more than once.)

My first ‘real’ salaried job as an adult showed me that the struggle to belong doesn’t end with your grade 12 diploma.  I quickly found myself excluded because of healthy lifestyle choices and my refusal to spend lunch outings complaining (aka gossiping) about co-workers, managements and company issues.  I used to think it was in my head, until another co-worker confided to me that she hated how everyone else treated me there.  I knew that if someone else could see it, it was bad.

Not belonging often meant I was purposely excluded.  Overlooked, left out and omitted for being too nice, too kind, too polite, not complaining, not gossiping, not cursing….  The list goes on. I didn’t belong when I dared to be different.

Yet the advantage of struggling to belong meant that I had to dig deep for my sense of worth.  It wasn’t rooted in how I looked, acted or talked.  I took my sense of worth from God and His Word.  I discovered that I do indeed belong somewhere and to Someone.  I was created on purpose, for a purpose.  All of these hardships were part of the refining process, molding me to accomplish the work that God has for me to do.

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You wouldn’t believe how the number of instances of when I struggle to belong are flooding my mind.  It’s a good thing the time guideline is only for five minutes.  I didn’t even touch the obvious yet—race.  That discussion will come in later posts. 

Join the five minute Friday community here.  With all the great readers, writers and cheerleaders, you just may find belonging.  I have.

When I’m required to do a presentation of any kind, I spend time preparing for it.  I make sure I know the material and have all my supplies tested and on hand.  I rehearse and reread and plan my words to cater to that specific audience.  Whether it’s teaching a children’s class at church, presenting a musical item for the main worship service, and every presentation in between, there is preparation involved.  I even go so far as to make sure that my clothes are appropriate and non-distracting, so that the message doesn’t get lost due to the presenter.  It would be awful to present myself in a way that is a complete misrepresentation.

Yet, I make presentations all the time, but fail to plan for the smaller ones.  From the moment I awake, I’m ‘on’, so to speak.  As a Christian, my first presentation is to God.  I don’t have to do anything fancy or act in any way.  I should be comfortable enough with my Creator to be wholly honest and true.  As a married woman, I present myself to my husband.  How I respond and manage duties in the home is all a presentation.  I’m also a mother, so my audience expands to my children who are not only watching me, but learning from every single thing I do.  My presentations extend to my siblings, my parents, my friends, my neighbours, etc.

How I present myself is a direct reflection of Who I represent.

I need to be aware that all these audiences I mistakenly discounted or even ignored do require my best.  The people that I see and interact and love each day deserve my best effort, especially when I don’t feel like trying too hard.  

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I found five minutes this morning for a quick post.  Can you carve out five minutes right now (or a little bit later)?  You can join the five-minute Friday community here.